


(make you believe in) love and sex and magic

by colazitron, kittpurrson



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: (and sex change related cissexist language), (ie calling someone a 'girl' or 'boy' because of their body), (sex change really), Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Magic, Barebacking, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Vaginal Sex, suddenly a girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson
Summary: Isak doesn't want to turn himself into a girl. He just wants his best friend. Apparently his magic has other ideas.or: The one where Jonas gets his mouth on Isak's magical pussy.





	(make you believe in) love and sex and magic

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** We are in no way, shape, or form affiliated with the characters depicted herein or their creator. We made all of this up and we're sharing it only for entertainment.
> 
>  **A/N colazitron:** Hooo boy. "I kinda like the magical sex change trope," we said. "Yeah we should chatfic that," we said. Almost 15k later... here we are. Strap yourselves in, pals.
> 
>  **A/N kittpurrson:** Lol, this isn't what I was supposed to be working on. But hot damn, was it fun.

When Isak wakes up on Friday morning, it’s without a headache, he’s got to give Jonas that. The shit he grows is always top notch. Not having to rely on fucking Elias for weed isn’t exactly something to sneer at either, if you ask Isak.

(Not that Jonas generally asks Isak’s opinion on Elias, but at least he doesn’t try to make Isak hang out with them anymore either and, if Isak’s right, he’s started seeing less of Elias himself now that he doesn’t have to. Maybe the lack of a weed cloud around them has made Elias less attractive to hang out with to Jonas as well. Isak can hope.)

His eyes are itchy, and his mouth feels like he tried chewing on cotton balls, but that’s to be expected when you spend an evening sulking and smoking up while you’re browsing your grimoire. Jesus Christ, he really needs to get a handle on this stupid tangle of emotions that flares up in his chest whenever he thinks of Jonas.

Last night had been particularly difficult, but he can only blame himself for that. Usually, he’s pretty good at tuning out Jonas’ stories about his hookups, but he’d made the mistake last night of asking about Jonas’ fling with that siren girl, Karoline, and it ended in a ridiculous monologue about all the things Jonas finds attractive in another person (namely tits and pussy, from the detail Isak was getting) and it made Isak’s heart clench in many and complicated ways.

He doesn’t even want to think about the stuff he’d tried when he arrived home to find the house empty, his dad long gone and the door to his mother’s potion stores suspiciously unlocked.

Isak should know better than to try out new spells without supervision, but with the weed in his system and his heart feeling heavy, he hadn’t given a fuck. He’d just wanted Jonas to want him, and the spell he’d found had seemed like the perfect solution. He hadn’t even known if he was pronouncing the stupid thing correctly.

In hindsight, he’s pretty glad that when he finished casting, and looked in the mirror, nothing had changed. He hadn’t even — was it even a spell to change himself? Or had he tried to cast something on _Jonas_? Fuck. Maybe he should call and check or something. (Though how exactly would that go? “Hi, bro, do you suddenly have a crush on me, cause, haha, my bad.” Yeah. Probably not.)

With a deep sigh, Isak throws the covers off and pushes himself upright to get out of bed. He should check on Mamma. If nothing else, she’ll probably be able to explain the spell and what it does, if she’s in one of her better moods, at least.

Yawning, he reaches up to rub a hand over his sleep-warm face and somehow... something feels off. He brings his hand down, startling as it tangles in a mess of long hair, and bolts upright. Taking a deep, supposedly steadying breath, he looks down at his body in his usual t-shirt and boxers, afraid of what he’ll find.

Usually loose, the t-shirt now hangs oddly. And — oh, shit.

That’s what feels weird.

His boxers, usually snug, hang loose without the weight of his cock nestled inside them. Isak yelps, and pulls his shorts down only to find, instead of his morning wood springing free, that he’s now the not-so-proud owner of a pussy.

Holy fuck, this is bad.

“Shit,” he says, then startles at the sound of his own voice — which isn’t his own voice, at all, but a breathy alto tone that is incredibly disconcerting.

Oh, shit. This is really, really bad.

Plus side - he didn’t curse Jonas with some sort of love spell. But right now, stumbling into the bathroom while pulling his boxers back up, he doesn’t really feel like that’s all that much of a plus. Did he really—?

He did really.

The mirror doesn’t lie, and what it shows is definitely not Isak’s face. Well, definitely not Isak’s usual face. Instead of the face he blearily stares at every morning, he’s met with wide, scared eyes rimmed by darker, longer eyelashes. His cheeks are somehow... higher? Fuller? Less full? He’s not sure, but something’s off about his whole face. It’s a girl’s face, that’s what it is. A girl’s face, and slightly tangled, wavy blond hair that falls down way past his face to tickle at his shoulders when he moves his head to the side a little.

It pisses Isak off more than it should, probably, given the other, far more drastic, changes to his body. He doesn’t even want to look any further down, but, Jesus Christ, girls don’t need long hair, surely. Where the hell did that even come from?

(The same place as his tits and pussy, he suspects. A deeply bizarre and sexist magical place, in fact, because when he brings himself to look down into his boxers again, he finds the nestle of blonde curls there neatly trimmed… not at all like his normal hair down there, thank you very much.)

Giving up, he pulls off his t-shirt and strips completely naked, looking at this new body in all its dubious glory. His new boobs sit high and perky on his chest, but the acne scars on his shoulders remain. His nose is still upturned, and he still has most of his usual height, he thinks… minus an inch or so, judging by how the mirror seems a little higher up than he’s used to.

_What is he supposed to do with this?_

If nothing else, it confirms his suspicions that girls’ bodies just don’t interest him. Maybe it’s because it’s his own, but staring at this girl in the mirror, he can’t imagine wanting to look for very long at the rise and fall of breasts, or the place between his legs.

He can’t let anybody see him like this, Isak decides. He’s just going to have to figure out how to undo it on his own.

There should be a counterspell in the grimoire. He’s almost entirely certain he wasn’t stupid enough to somehow make up his own spell, so there definitely should be a way to counter it, right? All he’s gotta do is find the right spell, and hope he doesn’t need some sort of lunar cycle dependent potion to counter it. He’s already inching closer than he’d like to his ten percent at school and he really can’t afford to go over it.

He pulls his clothes back on and brushes his hair behind his ear with an annoyed huff when it keeps falling into his face, stalking back to his room. He’d left the grimoire... there. On the desk. And open, thank fuck. Never say being a lazy ass hasn’t helped Isak out every now and then.

He blushes a bit when he reads about the spell, about the secret desires made reality — it was very definitely not his secret desire to find himself in this kind of body — but there, at the very bottom, in a neat script he thankfully doesn’t recognise as his mother’s or grandmother’s handwriting, is the counterspell.

Or. Well.

It’s not a spell, as such.

Since it’s a love spell — and hadn’t Mamma always warned him about those? — ‘consummation’ is apparently the way to end it. Because consummation implies marriage or something, and then you obviously found a different way to trap whoever you wanted to trap.

Love spells are fucked up. What the hell was Isak thinking?

Consummation. So: orgasms. That’s what that usually means, right? (Disney really sanitized it with the True Love’s Kiss bullshit, Isak thinks.)

He’s going to have to have orgasms with Jonas.

Isak is really fucking screwed.

Just as he’s done acknowledging his monumentally life-ruining fuckup, his phone buzzes with a text from the guy himself. _Party tomorrow night at Eva’s? No fae wine this time lol_

Isak could maybe use a little fae wine to deal with having to tell Jonas that he’s going to need them to have orgasms together or be stuck like this, but given what he did the last time he got a little intoxicated, it’s probably better if he just lives the sober life from now on.

Taking a deep breath he sends his reply.

_Count me in._

Jonas sends back a thumbs up emoji, so Isak sets his phone down and gets dressed - sweatpants and a loose t-shirt because he wants to be reminded of his body as little as possible. Then, he goes to check on Mamma. For the first time he’s almost glad that she seems out of it enough that she doesn’t notice anything off about him, and doesn’t notice that he spends the rest of the day holed up in his room, reading article upon article on transformation and love spells. Just in case there’s a way out of this that doesn’t involve telling Jonas and somehow asking him to... Well.

 _You not coming in today? Everything good?_ Jonas sends some time around noon, and Isak swallows the bitter taste of guilt as he sends a text back.

_Just Mamma._

_Want me to come over after school?_ Jonas asks, because that’s the kind of thing you do for a best friend — not fucking love spells when you’re unable to deal with your own emotions. Fuck.

_No, it’s chill. Didn’t want to leave her by herself today, but she’s sleeping now._

_Okay bro <3 _Jonas replies, and Isak throws his phone down on the bed in annoyance.

Jonas is a really good friend. Isak is a fucking dickhead.

He takes the opportunity to go down to the kitchen to make some sandwiches, leaves a plate on Mamma’s bedside table, and then goes back to his research. By the time he gets up to make some more sandwiches for dinner, his back hurts, his eyes are itchy, and he can feel a headache coming on. He hasn’t found an alternate solution either.

It’s one in the morning by the time he gives up and decides to try and get some sleep instead.

 

Isak spends all of Saturday searching the depths of the internet for a solution. He’s gone through all of the reputable sources twice, and even posted under an alias on both r/magic and the shadiest of mage forums. The consensus seems to agree with the unknown writer in Isak’s grimoire: the only solution anyone can think of is to fuck his way out.

 _Either that or let it run out on its own_ , one helpful user replies.

 _HOW LONG WILL THAT BE,_ a very sleep-deprived Isak types back.

 _How long is a piece of string_ they respond, and Isak feels his magic tingling at his fingertips, ready to cast something in rage.

He has to go and meditate for a good portion of the afternoon before he finally acknowledges it.

He’s going to have to find Jonas. He’s going to have to explain what he did. And shit, he’s going to have to fuck him.

 

It’s a rainy night in Oslo, as usual, and Isak feels damp and chilly even despite taking his mother’s umbrella.The whole short tram ride towards Eva’s house, Isak finds himself turning it over in his head—how to approach Jonas, what to say. His leg jitters, and he ignores the suspicious looks from the witch opposite him, because he feels like the whole world can tell he’s an imposter. A boy in the wrong body, wearing jeans and a t-shirt that he’d spelled just that little bit too small and been too afraid to cast on again, already feeling insecure about his magic.

This is going to be a disaster.

It’s not Eva who opens the door to her house. Instead it’s some guy Isak vaguely recognises from school, and he only gives Isak a cursory up and down glance before he lets him in without asking his name or how or even _if_ he knows Eva. Ew. Isak didn’t even worry about getting in until right that moment when it was way too easy.

Just another reason to get out of this body.

It’s loud inside, and crowded. Eva’s somehow established herself as the one who throws the good parties, in the last few months. Probably helped by how wherever she is, Chris Schistad is sure to be, and wherever he is, the party will definitely follow. Isak tries not to think about Eva, or Eva and Chris, or Eva and Jonas, or the role he played in all of that, because a truth spell? Really? He can try to convince himself he was doing it for Jonas all he wants. He was doing it for himself, that’s the ugly truth of it.

In the end, Isak doesn’t have to look too hard to find Jonas, because Jonas finds him, instead. Isak is mid-way through composing a text to him, leaning against Eva’s kitchen cabinet, when Jonas appears in front of him.

For a moment, Isak is confused by Jonas’ lack of greeting, then Jonas smiles in a way that Isak is completely unfamiliar with.

“Here all by yourself?” he asks. There’s a glint in his eyes that stops Isak from responding right away.

Everything he’d planned to say goes right out of the window.

“I could keep you company, if you’d like,” Jonas offers, and Isak finds himself nodding, slow and wide-eyed.

Jonas is definitely hitting on him. This is not at all, in any way shape or form, what Isak thought would happen tonight. But this way it’d be easier, right? If Jonas wants the girl Isak looks like anyway, then that’s good. That’s fine. They can both get what they want. Jonas can fuck a pretty girl, and Isak can get his body back. And Jonas never has to know that Isak is so stupidly into him that he turned himself into a girl because that’s the only way Jonas would ever want him back.

Isak feels the stirrings of a plan forming.

“I’d like that,” Isak says quietly, trying his hardest to smile the way girls do when they’re down to fuck. It must work, because Jonas steps that little bit closer, putting his hand on the side of the counter, beside Isak’s hip.

“So what’s your name?” Jonas asks.

“Is... elin,” Isak says, barely catching himself in time and feeling his entire body flooding with adrenaline. Way to fucking go and almost ruin your cover in the first five fucking seconds, Isak. Wow.

“That’s a pretty name,” Jonas smiles. “Suits you.”

Dear god. Isak is going to somehow have to work in a moment to tell Jonas that he needs to find some game. It’s a good thing Isak’s a sure thing anyway.

Jonas’s game surprisingly doesn’t improve over the course of the night — or maybe it’s just that Isak knows him too well to be impressed by half the stuff he says. The thing is, Isak isn’t like the other girls Jonas has tried to woo his way into bed with. He doesn’t need Jonas to be a philosopher or a joker or — Jesus Christ, even the famed Nissen cunnilingus expert — because he’s seen this boy puking his guts up after kebabs, and with all number of bizarre potions-related burns.

They’ve barely been talking an hour or so when Isak decides he needs to speed this along.

He fakes a yawn, stretching up his arms so his t-shirt rides up, clinging tightly to his newly-acquired tits. It’s a stupid move, but it works — Jonas’s eyes follow the movement.

“Are you tired?” Jonas asks, and Isak shrugs, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“A little,” he says with what he hopes is a coy smile.

“I could walk you home if you like,” Jonas says.

“Maybe we could just walk around a little? I don’t want to go home just yet,” Isak says. How much clearer can he make it that he wants to get laid without actually saying the words?

Girls must do this all the time, he thinks. But Christ, it’s really fucking hard.

Of course, when they step outside, it’s still pouring down. Isak curses the weather, because he really doesn’t want to wander around in it, but at least it gives him an excuse to hand his umbrella to Jonas, and crowd in under his arm to ‘share’ the shelter. It’s not just a romantic move, though — it’s literally fucking freezing, and Isak can feel his teeth chattering as they walk and talk. He should have done better than one of Mamma’s old ski jackets as a coat.

He has to admit he feels pretty glad when Jonas suggests they get on the approaching tram and doesn’t even ask where ‘Iselin’ lives. They ride the two stops north together — easily a walkable journey, but Isak doesn’t care — and Jonas reaches out to take Isak’s ice-cold hand in his own, rubbing tiny circles on the inside of Isak’s wrist. They’ve sat on this same tram so many times together that Isak can almost imagine this being a normal day, the two of them holding hands on the way home from school.

He ignores how his heart clenches as the tram comes to a stop at Grefsenplatået, and lets Jonas lead him off, their hands still linked.

“You said you didn’t want to go home yet, so... want to come chill at mine for a bit? You can crash there, if you want,” Jonas says.

_Success._

“Yeah, sure. That’s chill,” Isak says, and tries not to let his internal alarm bells show when Jonas looks at him a bit oddly.

Jonas’s gaze drops down to his mouth, then, and suddenly the odd look becomes something else entirely. Something contemplative. It’s not even Isak’s mouth he looks at, really — he doesn’t look the way girls do when they’re prompting Isak to kiss them.

Jonas reaches out, then, cautiously brushing just above Isak’s lip with his thumb.

“What?” Isak asks, and Jonas shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says, still not taking his hand from Isak’s face. “Just — my friend has a mark here, too. It’s cute.”

Isak tries to play down his internal screaming, but some of the alarm must show on his face, because Jonas shakes his head, laughing. “I didn’t mean—” he says abortively. “Oh, shit, that came out wrong.”

Isak can’t stand for much more of this. He covers Jonas’s hand with his own, smiling up at Jonas, willing him to take the hint already. Isak is too fucking nervous to make the first move, but he’s starting to feel like if they don’t touch soon, he’s gonna chicken out altogether.  
  
Like the universe hears his dilemma, the skies above them rumble, and hail begins to pelt down from the sky.

Jonas fumbles for his keys, and they both stumble inside, shaking and laughing until Jonas presses a finger to his lips.

“My neighbours are really nosy,” he whispers, and grabs Isak’s hand to pull him up the stairs to the familiar front door to his family’s flat.

“My parents are out,” Jonas says while he unlocks the door, and Isak doesn’t ask after his sister. He’s just going to assume if Jonas is bringing a girl over to fuck, she’s out with them. Jonas’ family go out to gather potion supplies at the witching hour all the time. It’s all part of the job.

Jonas puts up their coats on the rack, despite them being a little damp, while Isak bends down to undo the laces of his shoes and slip out of them. “We should go to my room.”

Isak nods and reminds himself to wait for Jonas to lead the way down the hall. He can tell that Jonas is a little nervous when he swings the door to his room open to let him pass, but Isak is hardly going to judge him for something he’s seen a hundred times over, even if Jonas doesn’t know that.

“Want something to drink?” Jonas asks.

Isak looks at him for a long moment, hoping to make his intent clear, and shakes his head. “No.”

“Okay,” Jonas says, and puts a hand low on his back, leading him over to the bed. It is, in all fairness, the only place to sit that isn’t the floor.

Isak has sat on this same bed so many times before. It’s never felt like this, though, the air charged with the unsaid possibilities. If he does this, he thinks, he’ll get to be himself again. If he doesn’t, he could be stuck as a girl forever.

But if he turns back, Jonas will never look at him like this again. Will having him once be enough to satisfy him for a lifetime?

Jonas sits down beside him on the bed, closer than he usually would, and Isak’s decision is made for him. He’s going to do this.

Isak smiles encouragingly, licking his lips just once out of nerves and being pleasantly surprised by how Jonas follows the movement. He stares at Isak’s mouth for a long time before Isak starts to feel his cheeks heat up. He’d never in his wildest dreams let himself fantasize about this moment — what it might be like to have Jonas' entire focus on him like this.

Jonas reaches out, pushing Isak’s long hair back from his face, and Isak tilts his chin.

 _Come on._ He silently wills himself to be brave. _You’ll never get this chance again._

With Jonas' hand cupping his head, Isak gathers his courage. He leans in and kisses Jonas, who welcomes his mouth with a hungry sound, taking the kiss from close-mouthed to filthy in seconds. Jonas gathers him up in his arms, pulling Isak as close as he can as his tongue tangles with Isak’s.

Isak had gone out without a bra, obviously, and even now, having arrived back at Jonas' warm house, Isak’s nipples stand to attention from the cold air of the night. Just as Isak becomes aware of them, pressing into Jonas’ chest, Jonas pulls away from Isak’s mouth. Biting his lip, he eyes the stiff peaks under Isak’s poorly-transfigured white t-shirt, and it’s like he can’t seem to help himself — he leans down and sucks them warm, right over the wet fabric. Isak bucks up into the heat of his mouth, pushing his chest out shamelessly as he wordlessly asks for more.

He’s almost embarrassed by the little gasping sounds he makes, the way he scrambles desperately to get his hands in Jonas’s curls and pull him closer.

When the want gets too much, Jonas pulls back again, panting, and fuck. It’s a lot. Isak feels drunk on the way Jonas looks at him.

He lets Jonas pull off the ill-fitting jeans, the too-tight t-shirt. He pulls off Jonas' familiar buttoned-up shirt — one of his go-to party looks — trying to hide his desperation to finally get a chance to see. Still, Isak only gets a moment to trace his fingers over Jonas' bare chest before Jonas whispers in his ear.

“Let me eat you out.”

Isak can only nod, breathing hard as a stab of want ricochets through his body. It’s not like being a boy, where you feel it all rushing to your dick, he realises. His whole body strains with want for a moment, as he clenches his legs together, feels himself get wet.

The rumours are, of course, true: Jonas is fucking good in bed.

Isak knew that the talk probably wasn’t all for nothing, but he’s still shaken by it. Isak isn't about to admit it, but he already loves sex as a girl. It feels so different. The fact that Jonas knows his way around this body, which buttons to press to make Isak pant and moan exaggeratedly, undoubtedly helps.  
  
It freaks him out how much he likes it, but at the same time, it's also Jonas. Isak can’t imagine any version of himself that wouldn’t be into Jonas' mouth on him, he thinks, so maybe it's not the body that he’s in that makes it so damn good. Maybe it's the body he's fucking.

And the fact that he’s with a boy.

Isak has never been with a boy before, but that’s a difference, too. Everything he’s done so far has been with girls, and it hasn’t compared to this. So like, maybe this would still be good if Isak were a boy too, so long as the other person was as well.

Anyway, Jonas knows what he’s doing. It’s not the easiest discovery in the world, Isak thinks, because he’s never going to be able to forget it: what Jonas' mouth feels like on him, how his fingers feel as they circle his nipples.

It gets worse, though.

"Spread your legs for me, Issy," Jonas says softly, and Isak flinches, just barely noticeable. It trips off Jonas' tongue so easily that Isak is startled by it, before he remembers. Honestly, he wishes he'd been more creative than 'Iselin' when he introduced himself. He just wasn't a quick enough thinker, and that first syllable came out too fast.

He can feel himself getting hot for it, though, hearing his name slip out of Jonas so softly.

He's blushing as he does it, but he spreads his legs and lets Jonas settle in between them. Jonas leans down to press a quick kiss to his inner thigh, and Isak shivers. Jonas probably thinks he’s nervous — and in truth, he sort of is.

There's something incredibly vulnerable about it. Jonas spreads him wide open, exposing him to the air.

Isak barely has time to feel anything about how naked he feels, and how odd it all is, before Jonas' tongue licks a long stripe up him and he finds himself straining as his muscles tense up. He scrambles to fist his hands in Jonas' sheets.

“Shit, keep doing that,” he pants, as Jonas' tongue moves in counterpoint to the light touches of his fingers. Jonas does, his hands all the while sweeping over Isak’s body and leaving whisper-light traces that get his nerves singing.

It’s like something clicks in his brain, then, that has him gasping, because the reality of the situation suddenly sinks in. Like, _holy shit that's Jonas' tongue, those are his lips, that's his nose, that's JONAS—_

He can't help but stare down at Jonas' head, watch it move, the slope of his neck. It's a gorgeous sight on its own, but with the flat of Jonas' tongue applying slow and steady pressure that's just that side of not enough... fuck, Isak wants to grab his head and urge him down, faster, more, anything.

Getting head as a girl is maddening, Isak decides. Either that or Jonas is really just that good at making girls lose their minds.

He half-moans, half-whines Jonas' name eventually. He’d told himself he wouldn't, that it'd be one step too far to let himself, but he can't help it: this feeling keeps building, building, building, spreading to the tips of his toes and tingling all along his spine, and it just tumbles out.

"Fuck, Jonas!" he breathes in a far higher pitch than his own, but it still feels like he's saying it. And then he kind of can't stop.

It's fucking liberating, letting himself say Jonas' name while he's getting off.

He comes in a prolonged burst of ecstasy, gripping on tight to Jonas' shoulders, pushing him away when he gets too sensitive. He feels his cunt as it pulses in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Jonas stares at Isak — Iselin — like she's a bit of a revelation, and if Isak's cheeks weren't already glowing he's sure he'd blush under the attention. Jonas' mouth is so obscenely shiny, and pink — Isak can't look away. For a moment, they’re just staring at each other, and then Jonas just bends his head and nips at Isak's nipples — which were not that sensitive before, he's definitely sure of that. Isak moans again, and feels Jonas' mouth against him stretch into a grin.

Now that the dam's broken, he grabs Jonas' hair and pulls him up to kiss, because even if the taste of a girl isn't his favourite thing, the taste of his own body, female or not, on Jonas' mouth is absolutely divine.

Jonas' hands take the place of his mouth on his body, cupping the small mounds on Isak’s chest.

The thing is, Isak thinks, that except for the tiny heave of his chest into Jonas' hands, his body doesn’t look that different. No huge boobs, no round hips. No hour glass figure; he’s quite boyish, really. It’s just all the little details (and the big ones, like his fucking pussy) that make him someone Jonas is interested in fucking.

It’s kind of fucked up, actually. That this body is so close to his own in so many ways.

Isak’s still panting and his body feels like there are bees trapped right under his skin, buzzing with the pleasure of his high, and Isak has to take a few moments to revel in it. Jonas sits back up and grins down at him, clearly satisfied with his work. Isak sort of wants to smack that look right off his face, but, well.

Isak just came. And that means one thing.

The awareness that he might transform back into a boy at any moment — a boy that Jonas will no doubt recognise — makes Isak shift nervously. Jonas’ hand runs along his body, up from his thigh over his hips, cupping his small breasts again — but they’re still breasts. They’re still there. Isak concentrates, but he can’t feel even a tiny little tingle of the magic that’s supposed to happen, not a single stirring.

The magic lies dormant within him, and Isak despairs, even as he’s glad not to have to get up and go.

 _Shit_. The orgasm wasn’t enough.

Jonas leans down and kisses him, and Isak kisses back distractedly, mind whirling.

If this wasn’t enough, then that probably means that Isak needs dick. In the most ironic twist of his young, fucked up life, Isak needs to get fucked to get back into his own body... And if what Isak feels pressing against his leg is indeed Jonas’ cock, then Jonas is definitely up for it.

“You’re really fucking delicious, Iselin,” Jonas whispers in his ear, and the heat that floods Isak’s body is half pleasure and half shame.

He can’t— he has to tell Jonas. He can’t keep this up. He can’t fuck his best friend and not tell him who he is, that’s. That has to be wrong.

“Jonas,” he starts, but he sounds so breathy he’s not surprised Jonas takes it as an invitation to come back and kiss him again.

Isak turns his face to the side, breaking the kiss, and pushes at Jonas’ chest.

“No, Jonas, I need to say something,” he tries again, and this time Jonas backs off.

He sits back up on his haunches, boxers comically tented in the front, and when he catches Isak looking, Jonas blushes a bit. Isak sympathises. Erections are a bit embarrassing when it doesn’t look like they’re imminently needed.

“Are you okay?” Jonas asks anyway. “We don’t have to, like. If you don’t want to... that’s cool.”

Isak’s heart swells a bit.

“No, that’s. That’s not it,” he says, because he can’t make himself say ‘I want to’ when he’s about to confess to Jonas who he really is.

“Okay, so then what? Are you a virgin?” Jonas asks.

Isak ignores the question and takes a deep breath, hands clutching at each other in front of his chest, trying valiantly not to think about how wet he still feels between his legs.

“You know your best friend?” he starts, frowning a little with how weird it feels to talk about himself in the third person.

“Isak?” Jonas asks, baffled.

“Yeah,” Isak says. “You know how he, um, has magic?”

Jonas blinks at him when Isak looks up through his lashes, head bowed and stupidly long hair finally being useful in the way it hides his face a little.

“Yeah,” Jonas says carefully and frowns. “How do you know that? How do you know Isak? What does he have to do with any of this?”

Isak bites his lips and swallows against the harsh thundering of his heart and the frog sitting in his throat. He looks down at the sheets between them, unable to quite face Jonas.

“It’s me,” he whispers.

He’s met with silence, so he has to look up again. Jonas is still frowning at him, but his eyes are flitting all over Isak’s face. Eventually they catch on the mole above Isak’s lip, the one he’d put his thumb over earlier, called cute. That was probably the moment Isak should’ve spoken up about who he is — not after Jonas already went down on him — but. Well. He didn’t. So here they are.

“... Isak?” Jonas asks carefully, like he’s expecting Iselin to be pulling a prank on him and laugh at him for believing something this ridiculous.

Isak nods.

“When we were nine, what colour was that t-shirt—”

“Green,” Isak interrupts, because he knows where this is going, knows that story.

Jonas’ eyes go wide as saucers and his cheeks redden with a blush.

Isak’s lip kinda hurts from how hard he’s biting it, but try as he might he can’t make himself let go.

“What the fuck,” Jonas breathes before he drags a hand through his tangled hair.

“But you...” he says, gesturing at Isak’s body. His eyes catch on the junction of Isak’s thighs, on what lies beneath the bushel of dark blonde hair there, and they both cringe at the same time.

“Fucking hell, Isak! What the fuck!” Jonas explodes.

“I’m sorry!” Isak says, snapping his mouth shut against the voice he’s still not gotten used to. Goddamnit, he just wants to sound like himself when he’s apologising for this.

“What did you do?” Jonas asks, still frantic and wide-eyed and almost comically animated, if it weren’t for how the entire situation is freaking Isak out a little.

“I didn’t mean to!” Isak says, which isn’t a complete lie, at least. “I just... I did something wrong and now I’m stuck like this and I read up on it and all I could find said that I had to—”

“Fuck?!” Jonas asks, when Isak can’t make himself finish the sentence.

Isak moves his shoulders in what would be a shrug in another, less awkward situation.

“Basically,” he admits.

“But you’re — you’re still not you,” Jonas points out.

“Yeah, it. Apparently that wasn’t, um, the remedy that was. Called for,” Isak says, watching the realisation of what Isak was implying dawn on Jonas as his eyes go wider.

“Fucking hell,” Jonas says.

Isak lets the silence between them spread to let all of that sink in for a bit.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Jonas asks then.

“I don’t know. I was embarrassed,” Isak says. “What was I supposed to say? ‘By the way, I turned myself into a girl and I need to have sex to get back into my body?’”

“I mean, that would’ve worked,” Jonas says with a shrug. “I would’ve...”

“What? Come over immediately to fuck me back to normal?”

“No! I mean... Maybe? I would’ve helped. Or tried to. I don’t know,” Jonas says, blushing again. The tent in his boxers is well and truly gone now, and Isak shouldn’t even be noticing that right now, never mind mourning it a little.

Isak looks down at his own bare knees and tries to pull his thoughts together. Jonas doesn’t seem mad about the deception, at least. So that’s good.

“Isak?” Jonas says, reaching out a hand to put on his wrist.

Isak looks up at him.

“You’re sure this is how to turn you back?” he asks.

Isak shrugs. “Haven’t found any other solution at least. Believe me, I looked.”

Jonas snorts a laugh, and looks at him with that fond exasperation that Isak knows so well. “Yeah, I believe you.”

Isak can’t help smile back, even if it’s a little weak.

“So, why didn’t this work, if you just need to come? Were you faking it?” Jonas asks then, frowning a little. Isak wants to smack him for asking that, but he feels a wave of heat roll through his body at the question. He was so definitely not faking it.

“No, I, um, I wasn’t,” he says.

Jonas lights up in a grin and Isak rolls his eyes automatically.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “You have no idea what this feels like.”

“Pretty good, apparently,” Jonas says and waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. “But wait, so does it need to be, like, penetrative?”

Isak shrugs and nods. “I guess.”

“Fucking heteronormativity,” Jonas mumbles. “Can’t magic update itself to 20-fucking-16? I mean, what the fuck.”

Isak shrugs again, a little helpless. It’s not like he understands all of magic’s fine print yet. That probably means he shouldn’t mess around with it the way he’s prone to, but. Well. He did, and here they are.

“Okay, then,” Jonas says, looking determined.

“Okay, what?” Isak asks.

“Well, let’s fuck,” Jonas says. He’s clearly trying to sound nonchalant about it, but Isak knows him too well, can see the tension in his shoulders and the hesitation behind his eyes. “I can’t just leave you like this, can I, bro?”

If there’s a more bizarre situation to be called ‘bro’ than while you’re magically a girl with your best friend suggesting he fuck you, Isak hasn’t been in one.

“Seriously?” Isak asks, completely gobsmacked.

“I mean, you’re not exactly a turn-off right now,” Jonas says, eyes falling from Isak’s face to his newly acquired chest and then a little further down.

Isak feels his face heat at the compliment even as his stomach sinks a bit. Of course it’s not Isak that Jonas wants, it’s just this body he finds himself in right now, but that doesn’t matter. Jonas doesn’t have to want Isak for this to work, he just has to fuck him. So if closing his eyes and pretending he’s some girl makes that happen, then.

“Are you sure?” Isak asks, because he really needs Jonas to be sure. If they’re doing this, he needs to be sure.

“You’d do the same for me,” Jonas says with utter conviction, and Isak halts in his tracks for a moment. He’d certainly _try_ to do the same for Jonas, but if his previous experience with girls is anything to go by, he certainly wouldn’t be any good at it or enjoy it. Maybe it’d be different if it were _Jonas_ , not just some random girl, but even just the thought of Jonas’ face’s features a little finer, his lips a little fuller, breasts swelling on his chest, hips swelling like parentheses around — no. Isak sort of has to fight down a disinterested nose-wrinkle at the thought.

The other thought though, the thought that Jonas is going to — that he said he’d — shit. Jonas is going to fuck him, and the thought reminds Isak with a startling clarity of how wet he still is, how messy he feels _down there_. He rubs his thighs together unthinkingly, and Jonas’ eyes bug a little as he catches the movement. Isak tries to be chill and let him look, can see the way Jonas’ cock is starting to stir again in his boxers... and isn’t that just the strangest mindfuck. That Jonas is literally getting it up for Isak, right there before his eyes.

Isak sort of wants to reach out. Touch. Help him along.

But. Jonas knows now. Who he is. That he’s actually a boy and if he reached out and touched Jonas like he wants to touch him then Jonas’ll think...

“Never thought you’d make this hot a girl, Issy,” Jonas says, and they both blush at the nickname and the memory of how he’d called ‘Iselin’ that too. But Jonas is grinning at him through his blush, clearly trying to talk them out of their sudden nerves, and Isak has to appreciate that a little.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” he says, and shifts around to lie back down, head on Jonas’ pillow, trying for some bravado. “I don’t want to be stuck like this forever.”

Jonas must see through him, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans over Isak to rummage through his bedside table drawer and pulls out a condom.

“Do we need this?” he asks, laughing when Isak’s eyes bug out.

"Don't even joke about that," Isak says, and Jonas laughs and kicks his boxers off before he rolls it on. He fists his dick a couple of times, and Isak goes quiet, biting his own mouth.

Jonas notices his nerves, of course. And maybe it should be harder for him now, to lean down and kiss Isak's mouth, but it isn't. Jonas at least seems calmer than before, somehow. He slips Isak some tongue, thumbs at his nipple as he does it, and hums as Isak relaxes a little, his legs parting again like an invitation for Jonas to crowd up in between them.

Isak doesn’t feel calm. He feels afraid, all of a sudden.

Isak thought it would be easier if Jonas knew it was him, but it's somehow still awkward. Now, if he enjoys himself too obviously, Jonas will know that Isak is the one getting off on Jonas, and while Jonas seemed to take pride in it before with ‘Iselin’ — it's giving him a bit of a headache, trying to work out what's appropriate. This isn't a hookup anymore, is it? It's just Jonas helping him out.

Maybe he can blame it on the body, he thinks. It's not him, it's the body reacting to a boy's touch like this. Or the magic, maybe, wanting Isak to get fucked.

He can certainly convince Jonas of that, Isak decides. It’s a good explanation if he moans a little too much, sighs a little too often, trembles under Jonas' touch. If Jonas asks, he can say ‘it's not me, don't worry, I don't want you like that.’

He’s going to moan, and sigh, and tremble. He can’t pretend he won’t.

He's thinking about that, still, as Jonas tries to kiss him pliant, when Jonas eventually groans into his mouth and starts rubbing his condom-covered dick against Isak's thigh.

He pulls back and meets Isak’s eyes for a second, but Isak’s body is already reacting — his leg wraps around Jonas' back to pull him in closer, tilting his own hips to urge Jonas’ dick towards Isak’s cunt.

Jonas groans again, squeezing the base of his dick.

“Okay,” he says, a little nonsensically — and Isak would laugh, but before he can respond, Jonas is inside of him.

Jonas slips a finger into Isak’s pussy, testing how tight he is — and then slips in another just as easily. All thoughts of excuses fly out the window for Isak, because he can feel that he's wet, aching for it, but he finds it hard to say anything coherent.

"Fucking hell, just do it,” he complains, not caring that he’s practically begging. He’s done waiting. “Jonas, come on."

But Jonas doesn’t get his dick in him just yet.

"You're really wet," Jonas says, a little in awe.

"Of course I am, you just ate me out," Isak blusters, trying to fight against the urge to close his legs. He always thought boys had it worse — arousal being so obvious when your dick gets hard — but this isn't any easier, this clear signal that your body is preparing to be taken.

"You're tense though," Jonas points out.

"Never been fucked, have I," Isak huffs.

"Aw, I'm your first?" Jonas teases, fingers still pushing into Isak’s body, distracting and a little maddening. Isak huffs and rolls his eyes, but when he says, "Yeah, you're my first," it comes out a little softer than intended.

"You'll have to take notes," Jonas says, trying to keep it light. "Tell me how to up my game."

Isak tenses at that, a little, and then Jonas presses his thumb into that same spot he'd been licking — his clit, Isak, he reminds himself. It's called a clit — and Isak finds himself wanting more.

Finally, Jonas gives it to him, guiding his cock towards Isak's entrance.

"Last chance to back out," Jonas says, and Isak thinks he detects a note of nervousness in his friend's voice. It’s not only Isak’s last chance to back out, after all. "Do you maybe wanna turn on your front, or something? We don't have to do, like, missionary."

Isak thinks maybe he's trying to be nice, save them from having to look at each other. But the press of Jonas' thumb is making him lose it, and he can’t help himself; he hooks his heel behind Jonas' back again, and pulls him in. It’s a sure enough move that the head of Jonas' cock slips down his folds, suddenly snug against the entrance to his cunt.

Isak exhales and Jonas breathes in, suddenly. As Jonas shifts, the head of his cock breaches Isak, and they both hold their breaths. It’s just a couple of inches of him, enough for a ‘just the tip’ joke, but Jonas can’t seem to hold himself back. He pushes in a little more, until he’s halfway inside Isak's cunt, and they both groan a little, Jonas closing his eyes and then incrementally sliding in further, slower than Isak even thought was possible.

He feels every millimeter of the slide of Jonas' cock in him. It's not something he could ever have anticipated.

"You okay?" Jonas asks, and Isak shuts his eyes for a moment, tries to focus on breathing. It's not that it hurts, or whatever Jonas is thinking. More that he wants this to last forever, and with every movement he knows he's closer to never having this again.

"Yeah," he says through gritted teeth. "Yeah, keep going."

"You sure?" Jonas asks. Isak can see the sweat beading on his temples, and he’s so far gone that all he can think about doing is licking it from his skin. "I can eat you out some more if you need to relax, or —"

"Jonas!" Isak cuts him off. He hears how frantic he sounds and takes a deliberate breath again, tries to loosen the muscles he feels wound tight all through his body.

"Please," he says, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling his face run hot. "Keep going."

Jonas trusts Isak, so he keeps going. He pulls out, then swears as he almost slips out of Isak completely, but recovers his fumble, sliding back in again with a smooth thrust that has Isak gasping. Jonas thrusts again, and again, and—

Isak opens his eyes, watching the sweat now gathering in Jonas' collarbones as he fucks in and out of Isak. Jonas' hand on Isak's cunt has stilled, so he presses down on it insistently, urging Jonas' fingers to start their slow circling of his clit again. The pressure has him gasping when it returns, a languid contrast to Jonas' increasingly quick thrusts.

The sound of Jonas' thighs slapping against Isak's is obscene, and between that and their ragged breathing Isak feels himself flushing. It's the hottest thing he's ever heard.

Isak doesn’t even mind the sound of his own voice as it mixes with Jonas': the way the cadence isn't his, a little too high. With his moans all breathy like this, and the way the occasional _fuck_ falls from his lips, he can barely tell the difference.

Idly, he wonders if Jonas can. If he's got his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look at Isak. Or, worse, if he wanted Isak to take him up on his offer of turning around.

He doesn’t have time to worry about that.

Abruptly, Jonas takes his hand off Isak’s clit, uses it to prop himself up on both arms and laughs a little breathlessly. He pulls out slowly, squeezing the base of his dick hard as he closes his eyes, presses his cock up into his own belly.

"Sorry, Is, you feel really good," he says after a moment, and Isak wants to laugh with him for a moment, from hysteria.

It’s good for Jonas, too. So good that he’s already close to blowing it embarrassingly fast. Damn. Isak bites his lip and tries not to think it means anything, but a surge of heat swells low in his belly anyway.

"That what you say to all the girls when you get tired?" he jokes, and Jonas shakes his head.

"Nah," Jonas says with a grin. He's still breathing pretty hard. "Usually ask if they wanna ride me."

Maybe he's joking, Isak thinks, but his belly swoops at the thought.

"Might get the job done for me faster," he says, ignoring how Jonas' eyebrows shoot up in mock offense.

"Fuck you," Jonas says, and Isak can't help the teasing grin

"Yeah, you are," he says, but the mental image is firmly planted in his head, now. Isak wants it — he can’t pretend he doesn’t. He’s not going to have this again, so he’s not above playing dirty to get it.

"Like, you told me you like it, remember?” he says, voice low. “The way they look sat on your lap, with their tits bouncing and shaking."

Jonas goes very still.

"Issy," Jonas says, half desperate, half warning.

"You're helping me out,” Isak pushes. “I’m not gonna have you teasing me about doing all the work."

He pulls himself up, and gives Jonas a gentle shove until he's sitting back up against the headboard, staring up at Isak in surprise. Before Jonas can overthink it, Isak takes a breath and swings his leg over to straddle him. Jonas reacts almost on instinct — one hand going to Isak’s hip, and the other holding his dick in place for Isak to sink back down on it. They both close their eyes as Jonas bottoms out again.

It’s so fucking much.

The angle is different like this, deeper somehow, and Isak can't help but throw his head back, arching his spine until his little breasts are thrust out towards Jonas, aching to be touched.

Jonas groans, not hesitating to take one in his mouth. He circles the nipple with his tongue, then pulls back to watch as Isak starts fucking down on his cock, rubbing his own clit now with one hand and pushing back his long hair with the other.

"Issy," Jonas breathes out. "Holy shit."

Isak slows and his hand falters in between his legs. _Too much. He’s enjoying it too much and Jonas can tell, Jonas thinks it's weird—_

"Holy shit, Issy, you're so hot like that," Jonas says, eyes darker than usual, hands grabbing tight onto Isak’s waist to keep him sat on Jonas' cock.

"What does it feel like? As a girl? Is it —" Jonas asks, but doesn't seem to know how to finish.

Isak makes an involuntary little sound and blushes because ‘better than anything I've ever felt’ is probably not an appropriate answer.

"Intense," he says instead, licks his drying lips. "There's so... much."

"Yeah?" Jonas says, and Isak feels it as Jonas' hips start jerking a little, Jonas fucking up into him as he pushes down, trying to get his cock deeper and deeper.

"You feel it... in your whole body," Isak says. "Like you just... go crazy for it. Oh fuck."

Jonas fucks in harder and Isak cries out in pleasure, the sound jarringly high in his own ears.

"I just— more," he says. "Nothing's enough, fuck-"

Jonas makes a wounded noise at that, fucking up into him harder, scrambling to hold Isak on his cock with one big hand — fuck, Isak realizes, his hands feel huge in this body — while tugging Isak's head towards him with the other. He pants into his mouth like he's dying for Isak's taste.

He never thought he'd know what Jonas tastes like — but now he knows everything. The exact curve of his dick, and how he tastes sweat slick and minutes from coming.

And it feels so good. He can feel it in the tips of his toes, in the swells of pleasure that roll through his belly like waves of heat, in the sharp sting of the way his nipples pull tight and how it almost aches when they brush against Jonas' chest. In the way he wants to wrap his arms around him and press himself closer, just get more of his firm body, of his warm skin, of his smell and his taste and even if Jonas thinks it's this body, Isak knows it's not.

It's just that he's pathetically in love with his best friend and in a matter of minutes this'll all be over and they'll probably never speak of it again. Isak will have to force himself not to remember any of this when he's staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, willing away the blood that sometimes fills his cock when he's not careful about the way he thinks about Jonas.

He can feel himself getting closer to the edge and cries out with it, almost wanting to slow down, stave off the inevitable ending — but he can't. His hips roll insistently down, chasing that elusive crest of _oh, fuck_ —

He's so very nearly there, and Jonas' own thrusts are erratic now, as he pulls Isak closer, lets Isak's nipples brush against his sweaty chest, moans into his mouth — unthinkingly, probably, but Isak keens with it, grips onto Jonas' shoulders, and practically bites onto his best friend's lip as he goes over the edge, the feeling spreading out to his whole body in a never-ending wave of pleasure.

It's so — shit, it takes so long. This pleasure keeps spiking and cresting and pulling him under and Isak lifts his hips on instinct, away from where his cunt is rubbing against Jonas' body, but Jonas' hand on his waist pulls him back down. Unthinking and just as much on instinct, Jonas fucks up into his body, chasing his own high, but it makes Isak cry out again, makes him tremble and his legs feel weak and like he might be — fucking swooning or some bullshit.

Isak has come twice already and holy shit is he sensitive. It's too much but it's also — when he pulls away he wants the feeling back immediately.

Just maybe a little less, maybe just a constant pressure more than the in-out push-pull of Jonas' dick. Not even just — not just the sensation. But mentally, the thought of Jonas pulling out, not fucking him anymore? He urges himself back onto Jonas' cock, just this side of too much, keeping Jonas' hands clear of his clit.

"Are you close?" he asks, as Jonas' eyes screw shut tight. "Come on, Jonas, what do you need?"

Jonas opens his eyes and looks right at Isak, and for a moment his gaze is so sharp and clear that Isak's breath is stolen from him. Then, like it's been ripped from him, Jonas moans, hands squeezing hard on Isak's hips to hold him down for some last, abortive thrusts as he comes into the condom. Isak only has a moment to wish he could feel it — Jonas' come dripping out of him, like proof that this whole thing really just happened.

Instead, he climbs off Jonas with shaky legs as soon as Jonas seems done, and looks away as Jonas pulls off the condom, tying it off in a knot and then padding to the bathroom to throw it away. When he comes back into the room, there's silence. Isak looks down at his body.

Still a girl.

"You're um..." Jonas says, vaguely gesturing at Isak’s body.

"Naked?" Isak tries to joke, though it feels weak. Shit, why didn't this work?! All his books and everything he could find online said it would work!

Jonas yawns, and then looks guilty.

"Sorry. Maybe... Maybe it just takes a while?" he suggests.

Isak shrugs, because he’s all out of ideas right now. He supposes he did do the spell on Thursday night and the change must have happened some time while he slept. And honestly? He’s too overwhelmed to keep on thinking about it.

“You can crash here,” Jonas says, when he realises Isak isn’t going to say anything else. “That’s not just a line I use on girls.”

He says it like a joke, so Isak has to smile.

Jonas is such a good friend, at the end of the day. Even now, he’s trying to help Isak, make this better for him.

“Can we just sleep?” Isak asks, and Jonas nods, getting up to turn out the light.

There’s no point in putting clothes on now, Isak figures.

 

This time, when Isak wakes, it’s to an ache between his legs that makes him roll over and face the wall by Jonas’ bed before he even checks to see if Jonas is still in bed with him.

Holy shit, they fucked. They really did. Jonas’ mouth was on Isak’s cunt and then his dick was inside him. That happened. That is a thing they did.

And yet, here Isak is. Still with boobs and the aforementioned cunt, and a sting behind his eyes like he’s about to start crying.

“No, we’ll be fine, Mamma, Isak just has a lot going on at home,” Isak hears Jonas say from outside the bedroom, which answers that question, he supposes.

Isak pulls the covers over his traitorous body, burying his head under the pillow. Maybe if he pretends this isn’t happening, it’ll go away.

He can’t believe he got fucked by Jonas last night. He can’t believe he’s still a girl in the light of the morning.

Did they not do it right? Isak can’t imagine their relationship being any more consummated than it was last night — except, maybe, for the whole condom thing. Maybe they shouldn't have used a condom, he thinks. After all what's the difference between a dick and a dildo when you can't even feel the — no, that's ridiculous.

 _Except_ , the traitorous little voice in Isak’s head says, now. _That’d be a good excuse to get Jonas to fuck you again._

Before Isak can acknowledge that fucked up thought, Jonas comes back into the room, his footsteps audible even under the pillow, and stops in his tracks.

“Still a girl,” he says, but not like he’s surprised. “I wondered when you were gonna wake up.”

Isak pulls his head out from under the pillow to fix Jonas with a baleful glare. His best friend is wearing just his boxers, now, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands.

Isak reaches out his hands for his mug — the same purple and white, handpainted monstrosity he made when he was nine. It’s weirdly comforting to hold, except for the part where he stretches out to reach for it and Jonas’s eyes fix on his nipples like moths drawn to a flame.

“Down, boy,” Isak says, sounding grumpy despite himself. Jonas rolls his eyes and climbs back onto the bed.

“Why didn’t it work?” Jonas asks as he settles in next to Isak. He’s closer than he would have been before, Isak thinks, when Isak was a boy. Clearly, Jonas is still into this body… and Isak doesn’t know what to make of it.

Isak sighs and pulls the duvet up to cover his chest. Part of him just wants to push it off entirely. Sit here stark naked for Jonas to stare at, but another part of him feels... he’s not sure. He was convinced this would work, even if he wasn’t sure he was going to get to try. But now that it hasn’t? He’s stumped. It’s less of a thing that he can look back on and laugh about and more of a ‘what if this really does stick?’ kind of deal now.

“I don’t know,” Isak says. “My grimoire and literally everything I found online said it just had to be ‘consummated’ to end the spell.”

Jonas grunts his acknowledgement and takes a sip of his coffee.

“That’s fucked up,” he comments, and then sighs. “But we also pretty much consummated. I mean, what more can your magic want?”

“Hey, it’s not _my_ — ugh,” Isak doesn’t want to get into the semantics of magic. “Like, I was still a bit fucked up when I cast it on Thursday? So… maybe I did it wrong?”

“What, like it’s permanent?” Jonas asks, turning to look at Isak with wide eyes.

“Don’t even say that,” Isak says and leans forward, pulling his knees up to hide his face in them. He’s balancing the coffee mug somewhat precariously, but he can’t be fucked to care about coffee stains on Jonas’ duvet covers right now. He knows he can magic those away, at least, even if he messed this stupid love spell up.

“Consummation is usually a marriage thing, right?” Jonas says. “You don’t think you have to get married?”

Isak makes a defeated sound into his knees.

“Please, no,” he says, and Jonas laughs a little.

“I’m just saying, you know. Marriage, consummation... it’s all very ‘nine months later you pop out your first baby.’ Kind of old-fashioned,” Jonas points out.

Isak makes a vague noise. _Just say it_ , that shithead of a voice in his head says. _Tell him you could try fucking without a condom on._

“No chance of that with a condom on,” he jokes, and Jonas stills a bit at the implication.

“Shit,” Jonas says. “You don’t mean—”

“No,” Isak says, tiredly. “Fuck, no. Probably not. But maybe we should have tried that? Not like contraceptive charms are hard.”

Jonas bites his lip, then reaches out to take the coffee mug from Isak’s hands, putting it down on his nightstand.

Without another word, he leans in and presses a slow kiss to Isak’s mouth. Isak doesn’t expect it, but he lets it happen — of course he does. As stressed as he is, he can’t imagine a situation where he wouldn’t want Jonas.

Jonas prises the duvet out of Isak’s hands, and pushes his boxers down past his ankles, stroking his already half-hard cock to life.

Isak looks at him with wide eyes now, the morning sun illuminating the determined look on Jonas’s face.

“We’re going to fix this,” Jonas says, as he pushes in.

This time around, the sex is… messier. It’s faster, at first, both of them working maybe a little too hard towards coming, but Isak soon loses himself in the feeling of Jonas inside of him — how it feels different to be taken on his side, and from behind, and with his ankles up around Jonas’s neck. After Isak’s first orgasm, Jonas seems to get wild with it, fucking into him so slow and firm that Isak is almost seeing stars.

At some point, dare Isak say it, it stops feeling like it’s about the magic. It starts just being… good. Really fucking good.

It’s not like Jonas is some sort of sex god, or anything — he gets a cramp in his legs around midday that has Isak screaming with laughter, and more than once he slips out of Isak at the most awkward time.

But Isak loves it. Not just how it feels to come, clenching around Jonas’ cock, but the feeling of rocking back and forth in his lap to get himself off; the way Jonas sucks marks into his belly as he’s teasing Isak with his fingers; how his hair gets more sweat-damp and ridiculous, starts to smell like those summer nights they stayed after school to work out in the gym together. Now, though, Isak has permission to look — and Jonas says nothing when he catches Isak looking, just fucks him harder and kisses him softer and calls him _Issy_ like a goddamn benediction.

By the time the evening approaches, Isak is starting to feel worn out. He’s still a girl, and it’s still fucked up, but... there’s one thing he hasn’t tried. For all that Jonas has gotten Isak off today, they haven’t talked at all about Isak returning the favour.

Like, and Isak knows that Jonas coming in his mouth probably isn’t the consummation his grimoire was talking about.

But Isak wants. He really fucking wants.

It feels easier now, after having spent literally all day in bed with Jonas, tangled up in each other and the sheets — only taking breaks to catch their breath and laugh at each other’s ridiculous faces, or to eat or piss — to ask for it.

Jonas would probably let him. He can’t still be pretending that everything they’ve done today has been for Isak’s sake, for the sake of fixing his botched spell. The first time, maybe. But any of the ones afterwards were just repeats of the same thing, technically, no matter their positions.

And now they’re really just lying here making out. There’s no other way to put this. These kisses aren’t going anywhere, despite the way Isak feels like he’s wound up still — or again, maybe. He can’t tell anymore.

“Jonas,” he mumbles, lips catching against his.

“Hm?” Jonas asks, kisses him again, slow and almost bored. Like he’s doing it just because Isak’s mouth is right there and he wants to be touching it with his own.

Isak needs to stop thinking like that, for his own sake.

Just. In a minute. Just after this.

“Jonas, can I — do you want me to suck you off?” he asks. It’s easier to say now, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Especially not when Jonas freezes where he’s lying opposite him, his eyes wide when Isak opens his own to look at him.

“You want to?” Jonas asks. Isak’s not sure if he’s asking if Isak’s really up for it, or if Isak really _wants_ to, but the answer’s the same either way, so he nods.

“You —” Jonas starts, but breaks off, eyes flitting over Isak’s face, lingering a little on his mouth. Isak sees him swallow once, twice — imagining it, maybe — and licks his lips automatically. “Yeah, you. Yeah, okay. How do you want —?”

“Like this is fine,” Isak says, and ducks his head down, dares trail his mouth down over Jonas’ chest the way Jonas has done plenty to him by now.

Jonas feels... he feels good. His body isn’t anything super impressive, nothing like an athlete’s, or a model’s, or any celebrity’s, but his chest is flat and firm under Isak’s touch, his skin is warm, he huffs a little breath when Isak accidentally brushes against his nipple, though Isak doesn’t dare do it again to see if he can pull that noise out of Jonas again. Touching Jonas like this simply feels good.

It’s a bit intimidating, once he finds himself face to face, so to say, with Jonas’ dick. But there’s a heat glowing low in his gut, spreading out through his whole body that makes him tingle with how much he wants to do this, so he takes his hand and wraps it around the base of Jonas’ dick, and pulls it into his mouth.

The heat keeps spreading, and Jonas gasps as Isak tentatively sucks on the head of his cock. He squeezes Isak’s shoulders, sighing out his name — and then, with more urgency than Isak thinks his first foray into cocksucking merits, shakes Isak’s shoulders again.

“Isak!” he says. “Holy shit, Issy!”

Isak pulls off of Jonas’s dick, watching in fascination as a line of spit linking him to it breaks in mid air.

“Yeah?” he asks, then double takes at the sound of his voice.

 _His_ voice. Male Isak Valtersen’s voice.

Holy shit, indeed.

His eyes widen as he stares up at Jonas in panic — because for all he’d imagined this moment today, it feels way too soon. He certainly hadn’t expected it while he was on his knees, the taste of Jonas’ pre-come lingering on his tongue.

He glances back down at Jonas’s cock, still hard and leaking in front of him.

Jonas inhales swiftly at that, and Isak is surprised to see his cock jerk under Isak’s gaze.

He looks up to meet Jonas’ eyes again, his own expression questioning. Jonas, he’s surprised to see, is still breathing heavily, his eyes raking desperately over Isak’s face, his shoulders, his torso.

Isak’s hand is still on Jonas’s cock, he realises.

His own cock, when he looks down, is just as hard, bobbing against his stomach like it’s begging to be touched.

“You’re back,” Jonas says, voice a little breathy because of what they’d just been doing.

Isak nods, fearful that if he speaks whatever spell is keeping them in this limbo will break, and Jonas will push him off. Because Jonas will. It’s not Isak, not this Isak he wants, after all. That was the whole point of that stupid spell, wasn’t it? To become something Jonas could want. And that’s over now, so Isak should really take his hand off Jonas’ dick, get dressed, and leave with a quiet thank you and his tail tucked between his legs.

“You —” Jonas says, looking a little helpless as he stares down at Isak, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

One of them has to move first. Isak has to move away, or Jonas has to tell him to. It doesn’t seem like Jonas will, but Isak refuses to read into it. He tells himself very firmly to let go, and then does. Uncurls his hand slowly, careful not to turn the touch into some sort of caress, but at the loss of sensation Jonas makes a noise; his hips buck up, just a little bit, like he’s chasing Isak’s hand.

Isak’s gaze flies up to lock with Jonas’.

“Issy,” Jonas says softly, and Isak could freeze at the look on his face. It’s not disgusted or freaked out, like Isak was expecting—it’s something else entirely. Something reverent, and intimate, and… somehow, Isak thinks, maybe hopeful. Jonas had looked at ‘Iselin’ like this plenty, but Isak never expected to experience it in his own body.

“Is,” Jonas says again, and Isak feels his heart swell up in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribcage.

“Jonas,” he says, at last, and at the sound of his voice Jonas erupts into a sudden flurry of movement, hauling Isak up and kissing him too fiercely, half-panicked, half-possessive.

“Fuck,” he says, pressing desperate kisses to Isak’s mouth. “Thought I was never gonna see your face again. Fuck.”

Isak gives back as good as he’s getting, even as his mind spins.

What the fuck is this? This isn’t some awkward oops-we-fucked-but-it-meant-nothing goodbye kiss. This isn’t some chaste let’s-be-friends sendoff. Jonas explores his mouth with his tongue, only pulling back to say “Jesus Christ, you taste the same,” before pulling Isak back in close.

The renewed body contact is enough to remind Isak that they’re both naked. And hard. They’re both hard this time around, and with how Jonas pulled him up the bed and Isak scrambled to comply, they’re pressed close enough that Isak can feel Jonas’ hip against his dick... which means that Jonas must be able to feel Isak’s dick against his hip. He’s not stopping, though. He’s not moving away, or pushing Isak off. He’s got a hand on the side of Isak’s face and he’s kissing him like he’s in no hurry to stop.

Isak makes a noise he’s not particularly proud of and opens his mouth wider to let Jonas in. If for some bizarre reason Jonas wants to keep doing this, Isak isn’t going to point out that they don’t have to. That they did it, Isak’s back, Jonas can go on and pretend this never happened if he wants to.

Isak is going to take what he can get before Jonas changes his mind.

He doesn’t know how far this is going to go, but he knows he’ll regret it for the rest of his life if he doesn’t see this through.

Like Jonas can read his mind, his hands trail a slow path down Isak’s back until he has one of Isak’s ass cheeks in each palm. For a second, Isak remembers those hands spreading him open as a girl — and then Jonas squeezes, and uses his hands on Isak to pull his hips into the ‘V’ of Jonas’ groin. They both groan as their cocks brush against each other, and Isak, for a moment, is afraid that he won’t be able to stop his hips as they stutter of their own according, desperately seeking a repeat of that friction.

“Oh fuck, Isak,” Jonas gasps, and Isak’s dick leaks a steady stream of pre-come as Jonas says his name again, over and over in a voice hoarse from a day of fucking. His cock slides against Jonas’s in the filthiest way, both just slick enough to ease the way. Isak can’t even look at them without feeling like he’s about to come.

Fuck, this is the hottest thing that he’s ever seen in his life.

Somehow it’s different, seeing Jonas’s cock against his own, than it was watching Jonas fucking into his aching cunt. There’s something about it that feels obscene — forbidden, maybe, like all the wet dreams he’s ever had have been realised.

He’s so fucking close.

“Jonas,” he says, whimpers it more, really, because this is almost too much, too good, too exactly what he’s wanted for too long for him to process that it’s really happening. He’s propping himself up on one arm so he can look down and watch, transfixed by the sight of their cocks nestled between their bodies, but the other hand is holding on to Jonas’ bicep, clinging to him like he doesn’t know what to do with it otherwise. He doesn’t, if he’s honest.

He’s got ideas, sure. He wants to reach up and pull at Jonas’ hair, kiss him again. He wants to reach down and take their cocks in his hand, pull them off nice and slow and watch Jonas shake apart.

But he doesn’t dare do anything but continue exactly as they are, rutting down against Jonas’ body, with Jonas panting underneath him.

“Fuck, Isak,” Jonas says again, one hand letting go of Isak’s ass to sweep up along the entire line of Isak’s spine, a shiver chasing the touch as Jonas’ hand settles at the nape of Isak’s neck. “Feels good.”

“Yeah,” Isak says, and Jonas laughs a breathless little laugh.

“Fuck, I didn’t think it’d feel so good,” Jonas says, hips moving to meet Isak’s now, the hand on the back of his neck adjusting its grip, like he’s trying to tell Isak something.

“Kiss me again,” Jonas says, before Isak can ask. “I want —”

Isak lifts his head and looks up at Jonas. His face is sweaty and a little red from the exertion, his hair tangled up beyond repair at this point, and his eyes are dark and hungry as they wait for Isak to look back.

“Kiss me again,” he repeats, and Isak pushes up onto his arms to be able to do just that.

His body is hovering over Jonas’ now, and he only hesitates for a second before he gives in, bending down to get his mouth on his best friend for the thousand-and-first time. Now, though, Isak’s kiss is slow, searching. Jonas may be able to just say things like _I didn’t think it would feel so good_ , because they’re true, in the moment, but Isak can’t say his own truth.

_I’ve wanted this forever. And it’s still better than I’d imagined._

Instead of words, Isak has his hands. In a flash of boldness, he reaches down to stroke Jonas’s cock, gratified by the way Jonas sighs into his mouth. He tugs at Jonas’s dick in a languid rhythm, feeling Jonas squirm beneath him, until Jonas begins to pant.

“Let me,” Jonas finally says, pulling back until his head hits the pillow with a thud. “Fuck, I just need to touch you.”

Isak’s heart clenches, and Jonas must read some of it on his face, because his own face softens.

“Please,” he murmurs, and Isak nods, too afraid of the emotions brimming up inside him to speak. Where the fuck do they go from here. What the fuck happens next—

Well.

Next, Jonas’ fingers wrap around Isak’s dick, and in a flash of inspiration, Jonas guides their cocks together again until their hands are intertwined. As if by agreement, neither of them meets the other’s eyes — too fixated on how their leaking cock heads appear and reappear in the sweaty tunnel of their linked fingers.

Isak is going to come. There’s no doubt about it, at this point — but it still feels like it’s too soon.

There’s so much that he wants to say to Jonas, in this moment, that he wishes he were brave enough to say. Things that are more than what he’s saying now: this litany of _fuck, Jonas, please, yes._

“Shit, Issy, I’m gonna come,” Jonas says, voice tight and urgent. His hips come up off the bed a little as he pushes into their hands, breathing erratic and lips moving around words he doesn’t bother actually saying — or simply can’t find the voice for.

Isak’s not sure where he wants to look more: at their hands, which Jonas guides with increasingly less coordination, or at the way his face twists up in pleasure. It’s nothing that Isak hasn’t seen before — several times over the last 24 hours — but it’s different now, because he’s different now. Isak is back in his own body, and Jonas is still pulling these faces, still feeling good with a very male Isak so naked and so close.

Jonas comes wordlessly, this time, but it might be the most intimate thing Isak has ever seen. Jonas throws back his head, exposing the pools of sweat on his collarbones, and his mouth drops open as he pants his way through it. When Isak looks down, he nearly comes then and there himself, watching the pulses of Jonas’s come painting both their hands — and Isak’s cock, and Isak’s belly.

He doesn’t think about it, just watches and stares and then sits up a little more so he can reach down with his other hand and run his fingers through the mess on his stomach. It feels exactly how his own feels, of course. That makes sense. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it feels almost cool against his heated skin and he can’t stop staring at Jonas’ come on his body, on his hand.

Isak lifts his hand to his face, and Jonas makes a strangled little noise that has Isak looking up at him just as he closes his lips around his finger.

“Isak, fuck,” Jonas says and sits up as well. He’s pushing in for another kiss before Isak’s even pulled his hand back out of his mouth, but Isak’s easy to convince to give his mouth up to Jonas tongue, let Jonas suck his own taste out of Isak’s mouth.

The pull of his orgasm comes back in a rush, and he moans into Jonas’ lips as he tugs at his cock faster — a little rougher than Jonas had, but just the way he knows will make him come. Jonas’s hand wraps around his again, and Jonas watches in fascination as Isak tugs and twists frantically with his come-wet fingers.

“Come on, Issy,” Jonas coaxes, and Isak does, his cock finally pulsing his release.

It feels comfortingly familiar, to come in his own body again.

He slumps against Jonas a little, lets his head rest against his shoulder as he closes his eyes and allows himself to linger in this feeling for a moment. They’ve both come. It’s over now.

Isak just got everything he ever wanted, so maybe it’s a bad time to feel bereft. But even as Jonas rolls away from him, grabbing his tissue box from the floor, Isak begins to feel the fear rising up in him, the dread of what comes next.

Jonas wipes himself off, then offers the box to Isak. He can’t help the burst of shame that runs through him as he cleans himself up. Their friendship is going to be forever changed by this, Isak realises.

If it wasn’t for Isak and his stupid spells—

The thought makes him pause for a moment. Spells. Plural. What if — maybe he had succeeded at more than one, he thinks. He’d been worried, before, that he’d spelled Jonas to have feelings for him. And he’d dismissed the idea, then, but maybe that would explain why—

“What are you thinking about?” Jonas asks. “I can see, like, the wheels turning in your head.”

Isak feels sick, in that moment, as he turns to his best friend.

“I made this happen,” he says. “Shit, Jonas, I’m sorry.”

Jonas wrinkles his nose at that. “Haven’t we already covered that? It was an accident, Issy.”

Isak hangs his head, now.

“No,” he says. “I think… I think I spelled you to be into me.”

Jonas really raises his eyebrows at that, the laugh dying in his throat as he realises Isak is serious.

“How so?” he asks, his tone full of disbelief.

Isak doesn’t know how to explain it, but he tries his best. Not the part about his forever crush on Jonas, but about the other spells in the grimoire — the ones that affected other people, and not himself. How does he know Jonas didn’t just fuck him because of that?

“Hey,” Jonas says, shaking his head, once Isak is finally done. “I’m not under a spell, Isak.”

“How would you know?” Isak ask. The fear is completely valid, but Jonas waves it off like it’s nothing.

“It’s love magic,” Jonas says patiently. “So if you ever even cast it, uh, ‘consummation’ would have ended it.”

“Yeah?” Isak says, and Jonas’ eyes soften. He moves in close again, resting his head only inches away from Isak’s.

“And I could kiss you again right now,” Jonas says, looking more shy than Isak has ever seen him. “Don’t you feel it?”

Woah.

Isak almost wants to laugh. He’s done nothing but _feel it_ for well over a year now. He’s felt it so much it’s as familiar as the back of his hands, the way he always wants to be near Jonas, wants to kiss him any chance he has, wants to have his attention on only him for as long as he can. That can’t be what Jonas means. Even if it’s not some sort of spell, that sort of _feeling_ doesn’t just happen because you’ve had a couple good fucks with someone.

“Yeah,” he says regardless, because he can’t leave Jonas sitting here looking so vulnerable. “I do feel it.”

“So, you see? It can’t be a spell, cause then we wouldn’t feel like this,” Jonas says. “And actual love spells take serious magic. Do you really think you could pull one off when you’re still high and don’t know what you’re doing?”

Probably not, Isak thinks. That’s a good point. He also didn’t think he could spell his body into a girl’s — high or otherwise — but that’s not the point right now.

“You can, like, check, if you want,” Jonas offers. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

Isak bites his lip and then shakes his head. He’s making this worse, he realises. He really doesn’t want to keep talking about it.

“No, it’s fine, you’re right,” he murmurs. “But if you feel weird though, at all, tell me. I’ll check then, okay?”

He stares at his hands, and Jonas exhales slowly. Isak feels the panic prickling at his skin, and he can’t help it — it’s been a rollercoaster of a weekend. He feels more raw and exposed right now than he ever has in his life, and he doesn’t know what to do with what Jonas is telling him.

“I should go,” he says, and Jonas makes a disapproving sound next to him.

“If it’s because you’re uncomfortable with this, bro, just say so,” he says. “Straight up, I can handle it.” Isak is back to being called _bro_ again and he hates it — but as he looks Jonas in the eye, he sees it for exactly what it is.

Jonas trying to be a good friend. Jonas trying to guard himself. Jonas actually… wanting this.

Isak fucking loves Jonas. What did he do to deserve this?

Isak kisses Jonas, swift and chaste, before pulling back to look into his eyes. He gathers his courage once more, and then buries his face in the crook of Jonas’s neck. There’s not enough courage in the world for Isak to say this while looking at him.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admits, and he feels the tension bleed out of Jonas’s body as he says it. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Jonas says, voice low and intimate. He passes a hand through Isak’s hair soothingly.

“If we... shit, if we do this,” Jonas starts, and Isak feels his heart pick up speed. _If they do this?_ Is that really a thing Jonas just said?

“I know I can’t realistically promise you that you’re never going to lose me, but I really can’t imagine a situation where you would,” Jonas says. “You and I are forever either way, aren’t we?”

Isak nods into the crook of Jonas’ neck, because if there’s one thing he knows it’s that he’s going to sink his fingers into Jonas as deeply as he’ll let him, and he’ll hold on until he physically can’t anymore.

“So, like. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe it’s just sex hormones talking. But maybe we can, I don’t know. We can try. And if it doesn’t work, then we just go back to being friends,” Jonas says.

Isak raises his head up to stare at him in disbelief.

“Really? ‘We just go back to being friends’?” he asks. Jonas is literally just now halfway into failing at doing that with Eva.

“Well, it won’t be easy,” Jonas says. “And like, yeah, it’ll be awkward. But it’ll be not easy and a little awkward right now, too, right? Now that we....”

“But we’re not in love with each other now,” Isak says, because they’re not. It’s just... him. And he knows how to deal with it.

Okay, no, he really doesn’t know how to deal with it, if his recent decisions are anything to go by, but the point is that Isak has been doing the unrequited thing for a while.

“It’ll be worse if that happens and then it. Stops,” he says.

Jonas studies him for a moment and then shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “Then we don’t. I just... I guess I wanted to, like, present the option.”

The thing is, Isak’s an opportunist. And this is an opportunity. An opportunity to get his heart broken, more than likely, because he’s already so much further down this particular rabbit hole. But also an opportunity to see what this would be like with Jonas. To experience it, if only for a little while.

“You... you really want to?” Isak asks. “With me?”

Jonas laughs and looks at him a little like he can’t believe it himself.

“You’re my best friend. And I really, really want to kiss you,” he says. “Isn’t that the kind of thing most people would kill for?”

Isak supposes that’s true, so long as the other person feels the same. And he, it just so happens, feels the same. And then some.

“Okay,” Isak says. Then again, slower, as Jonas realises what he’s really saying, here. “Okay.”

Jonas doesn’t ask if he’s sure, but he leans in slowly enough that Isak can change his mind if he wants to.

He doesn’t want to.

Jonas kisses him sweetly, and it’s not their first kiss, or their second, or their thirtieth. Isak hasn’t even tried to keep count. It still feels like a beginning, though. Isak’s giddy with the slow and soft press of Jonas’ lips, the way he smiles into it and puts a hand on Isak’s shoulder to steady himself.

“So, since you’re not leaving,” Jonas murmurs, “You know what you should do?”

“No,” Isak murmurs, smiling. “What should I do?”

“Try sucking my dick again.”

Jonas looks like he’s expecting Isak’s incredulous shove, but he still looks taken aback by the heat that returns to Isak’s eyes. Isak lets himself leer for a moment, then laughs freely, leaning back into Jonas’s side.

“We have all the time in the world for that,” Isak says, reaching for his best friend’s hand.

“Sure, Issy,” Jonas replies.

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time. If you wanna come scream about Josak with us, you can find us here:
> 
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> kittpurrson:[tumblr](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/kittpurrson)  
> colazitron: [tumblr](http://fille-lioncelle.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/colazitron)


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